


Switched

by Craigosaurus



Series: Switched [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pairings to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 22:35:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Craigosaurus/pseuds/Craigosaurus
Summary: The first discernible thing that greets lidded and unfocused indigo eyes is green.A lot of green- spread everywhere, up tall tree trunks and across the ground in bushes, and grass, and patches of thick moss that stretched across whatever surface it deemed fit to smother. It’s kind of pretty, Prompto thinks, once his eyes no longer hold the weight of unconsciousness, fluttering open wider to eagerly take in more of his surroundings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heya ; v ;  
> I haven't written anything in a while, so I'm getting back into the groove with this!  
> It's definitely going to have more chapters, possibly more parts as well as I'm still deciding if I should turn this into a series or a multi-chapter.  
> It is going to be kind of a long ride though, since this is just the start.  
> For now, this one's kinda short just to start this off and get the ball rolling, but I'm already working on the second chapter, which will be longer!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins...

The first discernible thing that greets lidded and unfocused indigo eyes is green. 

A lot of green- spread everywhere, up tall tree trunks and across the ground in bushes, and grass, and patches of thick moss that stretched across whatever surface it deemed fit to smother. It’s kind of pretty, Prompto thinks, once his eyes no longer hold the weight of unconsciousness, fluttering open wider to eagerly take in more of his surroundings. 

_Definitely not where he last remembers being_ , is the immediate pressing thought that follows, punctuated by cold rising panic, as the gravity of the situation starts to settle in.

And in the midst of trying to desperately put the bits and pieces back together, recollect specifically what could have possibly caused him to end up here like this; Prompto realizes that he doesn’t recognize any landmarks whatsoever. It’s just greenery; everywhere, making it hard to determine just where in ifrits ass crack he’s ended up. It could have been a forest, or it could have been someone’s overgrown back yard for all Prompto knew. 

One thing was for certain though, things weren’t looking particularly favorable. 

So Prompto does the only thing he can do; he pushes it all aside and tries his darndest to ignore it, to not think about it _too_ hard.

Surely there must be a reason he’s here, a catalyst to all this. But Prompto figures- in defeat- that if it had to be anyone, of course it would be him to get caught in such a predicament.

Prompto already knows he’s fucked up, that somewhere down the line mistakes were made- _a lot of mistakes, he reminds himself_ \- and therefore this was now the outcome. The only thing really left to do is to push himself up and figure it out like a big boy. That or lay here till night falls and let the demons do as they please with him. Prompto is- of course- not a fan of the latter.

So he forces himself to roll over, muscles aching and begging for the movements to cease; but he pushes on regardless, till he’s sitting at least somewhat upright, though unsteady and groggy.

His eyes ache, his brain feels like it’s trying to crawl its way out of his skull through his ear canals, and he’s overall just one uncomfortable mess.

It takes him another moment to realize and acknowledge- when heavy drops of water hit the blonde square in the face, making him wince in surprise- that it is, indeed, raining.

Because- duh- of course it’s raining, on top of everything else. He was never the lucky one.

However, Prompto figures he’s already thoroughly soaked anyway, so setting his own pace is a luxury he’ll allow himself to have for the time being.  
Currently the situation certainly didn’t deserve anything shy of a hefty serving of concern. And judging by the state of his clothing, filthy and wet, and his hair perhaps in even worse state of disarray, he must have been laying there in the mud for quite some time. His vest feels heavy against his chest, his tank top is clinging too tightly to his skin, and if he curls his toes he can feel the water sloshing around inside his boots as well.

Ugh. Wet socks. The tally just kept going up.

Prompto knows he can’t stay put though, he’s going to eventually have to push himself up and away from the ground, before bronchitis got added to the list of shit that’s currently wrong.

The tell tale signs were already making themselves known the more he grew conscious, the slight shiver that ran through the blonde’s bones, creating discomfort as he tried to adjust his protesting body; cold and clammy skin- covered by a light sheen of sweat from the humidity in the air- rubbed against his soaked clothing; along with what he thinks is a runny nose, and not just the rain water dripping from his bangs.

One more crucial thing has Prompto concerned though. And it morphs from a simple curiosity to a very real and reasonable fear, when with a quick overall checkup of the possessions still on him, his gun is not where it’s supposed to be.

Add no weapon either to the list, apparently.

Bummer.

Now Prompto is _really_ fucked. To sum it all up, he’s somewhere out in the wilderness, he’s soaked to the bone, in pain, and without his damn gun.

But before he can well and truly let it all sink in, a surprised yelp tears through the muggy air of what Prompto knows is the butt fuck middle of a forest, followed by a pained cry coming from the same source.

A cry in a pitch and tone that sounds disconcertingly like his own, he thinks in retrospect.

But Prompto is almost certain he has not breathed a word or sound since he’s woken. Therefore logic states it couldn’t have possibly been him. Right? 

It’s all soon followed by a series of whimpers and pained moans, and this time he’s at least mostly certain that the sounds are definitely not coming from himself.

It’s curiosity that gets him on his feet, legs still wobbly and head still throbbing.

It’s also curiosity that overpowers caution, when he starts making way towards where he’s finally established is the source of all the commotion.

It’s agonizing, the sounds reaching his ears strikingly similar to those of a wounded or dying animal. It almost makes him pause and reconsider, just in case he comes face to face with the mauled remains of a person.

But then again, it’s exactly what keeps him moving, the whimpers and moans growing louder the closer he gets.

 

\--- 

 

What Prompto does end up finding is, surprisingly, not too far off the mark of what he was expecting- dreading maybe? He’s not sure, but it’s irrelevant now regardless, as his own eyes stare back up at him in growing horror from the body on the ground, a new _pressing issue_ presenting itself with the grace akin to a stampede of angry Garula in a china store. 

It was his voice, alright. And his face, his eyes, his lips, his hair- A perfect mirror image laying in the soaked dirt and grass beneath him. 

For a moment, Prompto thinks he’s finally lost it.

The next few, are spent trying _not to_ completely lose it.

He definitely _does not_ have any other relatives aside from his father, so that train of thought is cut short before it can even be fully considered,

And though he does have a few other theories, he’s not quite sure he’s ready to delve into them at the moment, as their implications were… Definitely not of the pleasant kind.

He’d deal with it later.

“Wha- Who- N-No- No no no no-” Comes the whimper from the form curled up on the ground, snapping the blonde out of his own running thoughts.

It’s then Prompto realizes, when he has turn his eyes back to the other, that he’s looked away at some point during his careful tiptoeing around a mental breakdown. 

And when their eyes meet again, neither breathe.

It’s a long agonizing moment before Prompto eventually remembers that breathing is kind of a necessity to keep on living. It seems the other blonde realized as well, breaths coming suddenly again, short and labored.

The guy is panicking, he notices belatedly.

But all Prompto finds in the sight of it, is some kind of sick enjoyment knowing he’s keeping it together considerably better than his peer.

His own breath does comes out shaky however, on the verge of an incredulous chuckle, as he really, fully, takes in the sight laid out before him.

It hits him that they’re not quite as identical as he had initially thought.

There were some minor differences to make note of. Like the shape of their jaw’s or the freckles… He’s pretty certain the others hair is shorter than his own, possibly of a lighter hue, but it’s hard to tell with the rain. The boy before him looks almost softer in comparison to his own slightly sharper features, Prompto notices curiously. Because of course the first thing anyone would do in this situation is to compare the two.

However, in spite of the slight differences it was all still too close for comfort, close enough to have Prompto’s head spinning and knees nearly go weak under his twin’s unwavering stare. It almost causes him to give and drop to the ground as well, to evacuate whatever of his breakfast was left in his stomach; as his brain struggled to keep up with the visual feed.

His... Clone- _Because what else would he be_ -, seems to be in the same fast sinking boat, definitely panicking and looking desperate to get away- away from him, Prompto realizes. It’s almost- almost, refreshing to see the sheer variety of expression running in quick succession, one after the other. Shock, disbelief, fear, horror- _Denial_. And Astrals, if Prompto knows how that feels.

And he also knows why the boy _can’t_ get away- He can see the glistening metal of the bear trap, wrapped snuggly around the boy’s left leg, he can hear the soft sounds of water hitting metal, as the rain kept on oppressively pouring from above, and he can smell the blood in the air.

This kid, his clone, is practically covered in the copper liquid- Across his leg where he could see what he knew must have been a deep wound; it’s on his hands when he probably tried to tug himself free, and on his face and clothes, when he most likely grew too desperate and needed something to latch onto as the pain tore through him.

Plainly, he was going to die of blood loss and infection if he were to be left out here.

Now, how he’s going to proceed from here is an interesting and peculiar thought.

They’re both clearly in a _pickle_. 

The conclusion that he is obviously very lost, without his gun on top of it, is quick to reach Prompto; and the fact that the other blonde could very well be on the brink of death in a matter of a few more hours, is a problem all in it’s own regard.

It only takes a few seconds of contemplation, before Prompto is already deliberately inching closer, morbid curiosity taking over any other rational thought process.

He can hear the metal rattling at the other’s useless attempts at re-establishing the slowly diminishing distance between them. And, ah- he knows very well what it was like to _not be the one in control_. 

The blonde twists his body in a manner that just must be painful, and when Prompto’s eyes follow the other’s bloody hand, he notices what’s deemed more important than not jostling the wound. 

_A gun_ \- Prompto thinks, amused.

“I’ll be taking this-” he says as he leans down at the waist to gingerly pick up the weapon.

This would definitely solve his little problem, cause he definitely wasn’t going to just roam uncharted territory without the means to protect himself.

The desperate gasp that practically gushes out of the other guy is- It’s sad.

He probably thinks Prompto is going to leave him here alone in the middle of nowhere, bleeding and stuck in the jaws of the bear trap, without protection.

And that is exactly what Prompto plans to do.

Survival of the fittest, right?

He props the gun up to rest on one shoulder, in a familiar and comfortable manner as he stalks even closer, crouching once he can observe the unsettling similarities between them from a mere few inches apart.

“W-who are you?! Give- My gun, give it back!”

He briefly wondered if those bright, scared, violet eyes held any hardships at all, anything that resembled his own. He wondered if this kid _understood_ , if he as well was hardened by grief, the nearly-perfect copies too wide and naive to seemingly hold anything but child-like wonder, a stark contrast to his own. 

The thought alone almost has Prompto snorting in mock amusement.

Could the boy before him be of his father’s making? He outright refused to believe the sick bastard wasn’t capable of just about anything you’d be too perturbed to even humor. Blood relative or not, he knew what the man had done, he was well acquainted with what resided in that perverted mind. 

And the thought alone diminished the shock value, much like a well worn and loved security blanket would calm a child- if he just blamed everything on his father’s wrongdoings, it made this all just that bit easier to process- and boy was it a lot to process- and Prompto could accept it as truth rather than the high chance that he, simply put, was losing his Gods damned marbles.

It was all in due time after all.

And really, his father being responsible for the mess in front of him wasn’t too terribly far fetched. If anything it made copious amounts of sense to Prompto.

He’d stick with that as an explanation for all this. At least for now anyway.

Plus, he had other problems that required immediate attending to.

Such as the rustling in the vegetation not far from where they were currently located.

_“Prompto!”_

It’s what has both boys screeching to a halt, staring at each other with matching wide eyes in a moment of incredulity, and Prompto could have sworn that sounded like-

“GLADIO!!!” Came the quick confirmation from beneath him, the squirming resuming with new strength and resolve Prompto knew couldn’t have been good for the other’s open wound.

If that really was Gladio, then perhaps he hadn’t strayed too far after all.

But the first thing that’s really got Promptos undivided attention, was the way the blonde on the ground before him had answered to _his name_. And he knows in that moment, that one of his worst fears possibly just got confirmed.

“Prompto! Where are you?” Came the second shout, this time closer, close enough to make him squirm and hold his breath in anticipation.

“Gladio, here! I-!!” The sudden cry has Prompto switching from passive spectator to active participant, as he firmly pressed the palm of his hand against the boy’s mouth, effectively silencing him from giving away their location.

“Shhh… Not yet.” First he had questions.

But most importantly.

Gladio was dead.

Things weren’t adding up, and it had Prompto wary, and rightfully so.

His eyes left the boy in front of him in favor of trailing to their right, from where he had heard the other man scream for him- them? Prompto wasn’t even certain of that simple fact anymore.

“Prompto answer me!”

He could tell the other really- _really_ wanted to answer to the beckoning, as he struggled against what Prompto can only assume is the need to ardently get away from him, his hand, and the gun that was now firmly pressed against the others left temple- _just in warning_ , Prompto told himself.

“Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.” He punctuated his words by pressing the gun further against the other’s head. “Yeah?” And just in case he hadn’t made himself clear enough, he removed the safety with a soft click.

It was met with a jerky nod that meant the other had understood, and Prompto was grateful for it. He didn’t particularly want to shoot the guy point blank.

“Take your clothes off.” Says Prompto, in what he’s hoping is a calm and convincing enough manner, to not have to fall back on the promise of lodging a bullet somewhere deep in the other boy.

His request, however, was met with wide eyes and a confused stare- definitely not what Prompto had just asked of him. They didn’t have time to waste lollygagging.

But Prompto was a patient guy, he could deal with misunderstandings.

“Go on. Don’t make me repeat myself.” He muttered softly, waiting.

That got the other moving, as shaky hands slowly made their way up to the boys filthy vest, slipping it off and letting it hit the ground with a soft thud.

The next thing to come off was his tank top, uncertain eyes meeting his own again in confirmation that the piece of garment had to go as well. To which Prompto only nodded, in what he hoped was enough conviction to coax the other into making this easier for the both of them. 

And getting him to hurry up especially.

It was only once all of his bracelets and wristbands were removed- _Well, almost all of them, Prompto realized curiously_ \- that he himself also started stripping, tugging off his filthy clothing single handedly, the barrel of his gun never leaving its target, as he switched it from hand to hand to aid the process.

They share the same face, same body, and same name apparently; it wasn’t too weird to assume this _other Prompto_ could have been trained to acquire a similar skill set to match his own. And though the situation does work in his favor, it does leave him wondering why the blonde hasn’t tried to get himself out of this. Because at this distance, while they’re busy like this, there are at least four different ways he could have removed the gun from his own hands- wound and all- and turned this entire situation around.

“Put these on. Quickly.” He mutters again, back on track, voice still soft and patient. However he leaves no room for arguments they cannot spare right now.

They make haste, swapping clothes cautiously of the others still uncanny presence.

The pants, turns out, provide to be an issue he had not foreseen, and it causes him to mentally kick himself; repeatedly.

The way the bear trap is wrapped around the other’s leg- and therefore pants as well- makes it a challenge to get them removed, and for a split second, when he hears three voices speaking amongst themselves- One being definitely Gladio, the other two belonging to people he’d rather not think about right now- he contemplates going without.

 _“Not a word.”_ His voice comes out as a forceful whisper this time, filled with less patience as Prompto knows they’re running out of time.

“ -He’s here- …-Somewhere, I heard him-... - I’m sure-.. Prompto! I swear to the Astrals above, if you don’t answer me- ”

Without the pants it is, and as humiliating as the thought of presenting himself in muddy boxer briefs was, he didn’t have the time nor luxury to think about things like pride right now.

Sometimes you had to do what you had to do.

The other’s phone was the only thing left to collect, once a quick pat down of what remained unstolen revealed its existence. 

“I’ll come back” was the only thing Prompto offered the other, before bringing the cold hard metal barrel of the gun down against the poor boy’s head, knocking him out cold.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went surprisingly smoother than the first one ;; so I might go back to revision the first one, try to rework it a bit to make it flow better!

It’s only once the fight is done and over with, bits and pieces of the once fully functional MT’s littering the ground in proof, that Noctis notices there are only three of them. 

“Where’s Prompto.” Is the first thing out of the boy’s mouth, not even giving himself the time to re-collect his bearings. 

He’s breathing hard, as he banishes his sword back to the Armiger with a flick of his wrist; eyes quickly scanning their surroundings in growing unease, when the familiar head of messy blonde hair is not immediately apparent.

They’re all tired, aching, and hungry, and the last thing they need is to be worrying over one of them possibly gone missing. 

Dread is already rising as multiple scenarios start to play out in his mind, one after the other, and they all include at least some semblance of his best friend lying somewhere in a ditch, injured; all because the idiot probably thought it was a simply grandiose idea to take a selfie with some MT mid battle, or stray too far from the fight while they weren’t looking.

“He’s not with you?” Comes Ignis’ reply, at first a simple question, but the growing worry is clear in the advisers features.

And it really just serves to further aggravate Noctis, as Prompto is _clearly_ not with him.

Its when Gladio steps up beside them, sounding more annoyed than concerned, that Noctis starts to really lose his patience. “I thought he was runnin’ around keeping watch over Iggy’s back.” The shield mutters.

“You’re mistaken, last I saw him he was-”

“It doesn’t matter!” Noctis is quick to cut them off, “we’re going to go find him.” He says, with the finality of a true King.

He's is in no mood to sit here and waste time when they should be looking for Prompto and turning in for the day. He can feel the frustration spike at the mere thought of them trying to squabble. His back aches, and the overuse of his magic is finally taking it’s toll on his body after they’ve been fighting MT’s for what feels like _hours._

Really, he just wants to drop on the first acceptably soft surface and sleep for the rest of the week. 

Not to mention, the crankyness was currently doing him no favors.

“I suppose checking within the immediate surroundings is a good place to start, Noct-” But Noctis doesn’t even let the man finish, sword already back in his waiting hand; and with a well aimed throw, and a flash of shattering blue crystal, he’s gone, leaving the other two in his dust.

“Well this is going to be bothersome.” Ignis mutters.

 

\---

 

Two hours later, they’re still searching.

Gladio is getting impatient, Ignis is growing more and more frustrated the longer they are out here, and Noctis is Shiva’s tits knows where.

They've looked just about everywhere, at least in the surrounding area that ringed around the makeshift battlefield from earlier. Ignis is starting to wonder if perhaps they need to expand their search to the immediate areas _around_ their current location.

At this point Gladio is already half way convinced the kid got dragged off and mauled, never to be seen again. 

If this were back in insomnia, missing for a mere two hours wouldn't even deem reporting it necessary, unless you were a child; but they aren't in insomnia anymore. These are the great outdoors, where one wrong move could get you killed. And it's with that knowledge that Ignis presses on, along with Gladio quickly following behind.

He does know that if it comes down to it the kid is capable of fending for himself, his training proving as much. He knows he's skilled with guns, and though he has minimal training in anything else, he knows he's capable of making due.

It, however, still does nothing to alleviate ignis’ concerns for the boy he’s grown fond of throughout the years.

“Where the hell could the kid have gone? He can’t have possibly gotten that far!” Interjects Gladio, clearly agitated, snapping the advisor out of his train of thought. “We’ve practically looked around the entire perimeter!”

Ignis in turn merely sighs, reaching to adjust his glasses in irritation, the squelching steps of his soaked shoes picking up pace, perhaps in an attempt to subconsciously distance himself from the other. “Then we’ll have to search further. Leaving him out here alone as the sun sets is not an option, as much as the punishment seems befitting for not being more attentive during battle.” Not to mention now they most likely had to locate Noctis as well.

“You know that’s not what I meant, Iggy.” Says Gladio, somewhat offended the other man would imply he’d leave their friend out here, possibly injured, to fend for himself against the daemons. 

“Yes, well, do mind your words, Gladio. I assure you we are _all_ extremely tired and just as frustrated with the current situation.”

__

__

That seems to do the trick, effectively silencing the bigger man, who only offers a huff in response and nothing more as he resumes searching. And Ignis can tell he’s trying his best to not resemble a scolded child. The thought alone is almost amusing, if he were in better spirits he’d tease the other for it.

Perhaps he was too harsh, ignis wonders for a brief second- but his statement still runs true. They’ve been out here for the greater portion of the day, fighting and subsequently searching for their missing friend. They’re all just about craving a bed and a warm meal, to the point he’s positive Noctis would be downright giddy to set up camp and call it a day.

He supposes, that he’s at the very least grateful the rain has let up. It was the little victories that mattered most after all, he reminds himself, and at this point Ignis would take whatever he can get.

He does however wish this would move along quicker, as he felt himself growing progressively more… _Irritable_ as well.

It’s when- much to the advisors displeasure- it does indeed seem like they’ve searched the entire perimeter, coming up with absolutely nothing, that Ignis stops to watch. Gladio is in the process of forcing his broadsword between the nearby rocks, under the pretense that the blonde could have gotten stuck beneath the rubble. And if that was the case they were going to have one hell of a problem on their hands.

The shield carries on for another few moments, with the brute force of a tornado, tearing through trees and bushes when he deems them to be in the way. Ignis wants this to be over as much as the shield does.

“Prompto!” Gladio shouts out into the forest that surrounds them, for what feels like the billionth time, and all it seems to accomplish is to grind on the advisers already shot nerves rather than locate their missing friend.

“Perhaps we should split up, dare I say this process might speed up at least somewhat.” Comes the tired suggestion.

“Yeah, sure, sounds good. I’ll take the east you take the west?” Gladio offers, pausing to face the other once he can no longer hear the other man’s footsteps leading the way.

They both know that if this keeps dragging on the way it is, soon the sun will have completely disappeared beneath the horizon and the daemons would in turn be roaming the earth. Not to mention there was always the high chance of the surrounding wildlife making their presence known, and they were _most definitely_ in no condition nor mood to deal with any of that at the current moment. It would cause a derail they’d have to take care of with two men down- Well more like one man possibly down, as the other was simply impatient and careless and most likely got himself lost as well. And on top of that, Ignis is almost certain they are down to their last curative, as they were hoping to make it back in time to pick up a few hunts and stock up again on much needed supplies.

The advisor can practically feel his blood pressure rising at the thought of having possibly wasted an entire day fighting the Empire’s seemingly never ending stock of MT’s.

They were supposed to be looking for old traps to then remove them. Not this.

It was not one of their best days for sure.

“Marvelous.” Comes the response, coiled with poorly restrained exasperation, which only causes the shield to puff his chest out to counter it. If Ignis were anyone else, the gesture would imply you most definitely wanted to turn around and scram, but this is Ignis, and Gladio knows not to come to blows with the other man.

And usually Ignis is well versed in the art of ignoring childishness, but he’s merely human as well, and not immune to the piling frustrations today has only had to offer. So he opens his mouth, ready to offer a sarcastic remark to Gladios showcase of what he only assumes is an attempt to assert some kind of misplaced alpha dominance. But before he can get the words out the shield is interrupting him.

“Wait- Iggy, hold up I think I heard something-” He says, causing Ignis to snap his mouth shut, lips pressed into a thin line as he forces himself to shift his mental state from petty teenager to Advisor of the future King of Lucis.

“I don’t hear anything, are you certain? Could it have been Prompto?” Says Ignis, calm and collected once more, straining his hearing as he tried to pick up on whatever the other seemingly had

“It couldn’t have been anyone else-” The other muttered, mostly to himself. “ Prompto! Where are you?” Gladio shouted a second time, hoping the other would aid them in locating his whereabouts.

But there was no reply this time, not even a sound, and no sign of the blonde anywhere.

“Damn it.” Gladio growled. “Prompto answer me!” And Ignis couldn’t exactly blame the guy for his restlessness; the sun was already mostly gone, daylight dwindling at an uncomfortably fast pace, and it was really only a matter of time before the first daemons emerged from the darkness to target them.

“We should rendezvous with Noct, and at the very least secure a place to spend the night. It’s getting late, I’m afraid it won’t do us any favors if we’re stuck out here past night fall without a safe area to recollect ourselves, especially if Prompto turns up injured.”

For a moment, it seemed like Gladio wanted to protest, but something else appears to grab his attention once more, as he turned away from Ignis and towards what the advisor assumes is the cause.

“Ignis, he’s here, I know he’s gotta be here somewhere, I heard him!” 

“I know, Gladio, but-” Ignis tries, but the attempt gets completely ignored in favor of the others ardent perseverance. 

“Prompto! I swear to the Astrals above, if you don’t answer me-”

“Gladio-” Ignis makes another attempt to placate the shield.

 

\--

 

“Guys?” 

It’s at the sound of what they immediately recognize as Prompto, that both their heads swivel towards the third voice so harshly, that Ignis is momentarily concerned they’d get whiplash from it.

“Prompto?” The advisor quickly asks, almost incredulously at the sudden and unexpected appearance of said blonde; especially after hours of searching with no results.

 _Where had the boy even come from?_ He had sneaked up on them so quietly; there should have at least been the crunching of foliage beneath the other’s footsteps. 

_Were they simply not paying enough attention?_ It has Ignis wondering if perhaps they’d have listened out more carefully, this would have been a shorter affair after all.

It’s an aggravating thought.

But it doesn’t take very long for Ignis to push it all aside, in favor of already making mental notes of the others well being, years of looking after the prince causing it to be a habitual priority. _Business first feelings later._ Especially when there was the chance someone was injured. High chance in this case.

“Prompto, are you alright? Are you injured? Where have you been?” Comes the rapid fire, questions- no, demands, coming in quick succession as he’s looking the other over.

“I-Ignis-” Prompto stutters at first. 

And then there’s a pause, which has Ignis on edge.

“I’m- I’m fine.” The blonde continues, once he’s collected his bearings enough to speak again.

So not fine it was then.

The look on the kid’s face did not seem convinced of the words leaving his mouth. And the advisor can see why, when his eyes take in the other boy's appearance.

The first thing he notices is the red. It’s on the blonde’s hands and clothing causing Ignis to hastily approach in alarm, Gladio hot on his heels and fingers already twitching ready to summon a potion- their last one- if needed. 

The second thing he notices is the conspicuous lack of pants on the others persona. For whatever reason Prompto had deemed it necessary to ditch said garment, and the implications pique his curiosity as much as it concerns him. But what really has the advisor thoroughly perplexed, is the peculiar look the other man has fixed him with. 

It almost looks like he’s seen a ghost, Ignis allows himself to consider, though cautiously; the pools of violet never leaving his.

It’s even more apparent when his eyes move from him to land on Gladio instead.

“Dude, I thought you were dead.” Comes the confirmation to Ignis’ concerns. 

The words seem to stop the man dead in his tracks at first, an odd look washing over the others features; before he’s right back to throwing around teasing retorts. “Me? Dead? Try again Blondie! If anything we’re the ones who thought you were dead meat!”

Another look crosses the younger man’s face, almost as if he’s contemplating if he should agree to the statement or not.

Before Ignis can add on with his own inquiries though, Gladio beats him to it. “What’s with the whole lack of pants? Decide to enjoy the breeze?”

“Coeurl.” Is the only thing the boy offers.

“That doesn’t really explain much kid.” But Ignis knows asking for a clarification is futile, he can see it in the blonde’s expression that he doesn’t care to elaborate. For whatever reason that might be.

All the rest of the questions could wait till later. 

“We should contact Noct, have him meet us at least at the main road, and of course let him know that we’ve found Prompto.” Ignis says instead.

“You’re a mess. Gonna have to hose you down in the back just to see your face.” Gladio adds, reaching to ruffle the blonde’s already filthy hair.

It has Prompto jumping in startlement, Ignis notices. And not just in an attempt to preserve hours of work in front of a mirror, judging by the manner the wet blond locks are falling across the boy’s face, obscuring half of it entirely.

What could have possibly kept the blonde so on edge, is a mystery.

“Yes, perhaps cleaning up would be wise before we settle for the night.” He says, slowly, eyes never leaving the smaller male.

It’s making their companion uncomfortable, he notices; his assumptions based on all the squirming said man appears to be doing.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Ignis asks again, just to make sure.

The reply he gets is the exact same. “I’m fine.” 

Then the blonde adds on after a beat “I promise, Ignis-” when he’s also quick to catch onto the fact that he’s repeated himself.

At this point Ignis decides that pushing the other man is pointless, instead focusing whatever’s left of his energy into trying to mentally organize where they should go from here. 

First they had to make their way back to the Motel, having wandered so far in search of Prompto; then they’d need to all wash up, followed by procuring some kind of meal, and then finally sleep; in that order.

“Alright then,” he says, though slowly, just in case the boy were to change his mind “I believe we should head back while we can. It should be quick enough.” He says, already reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone. 

“We’re just glad you’re okay, Blondie.”

First, he has to call Noctis.

 

\--

 

Prompto knows he’s in deep shit once it really dawns on him that those are indeed Gladio and Ignis.

His eyes are currently firmly fixed on the advisors shoes, and he can see Gladio in his peripheral; it has him mentally wringing his hands in worry, wondering if this was all just one big mistake on his part. 

But it’s at the fact that he has not been immediately cut down upon being spotted, that has Prompto’s completely baffled. it also interests him, however; enough to brave the fear and risk glancing up at the bespectacled man, violet locking with green.

Ignis is already moving in close- too close, with odd concern written all over his features; as if nothing had ever happened, as if it was all merely a fever dream and they were back to being on good terms. It makes him want to make a run for it- take off into the night without a care for the daemons.

He can tell the taller man is stubbornly set on ensuring his well being though, for whatever reason that may be- because he cannot think of a singular Six damned one.

Prompto is obviously not a fan of the closeness, taking a step back, and only answering when immediately addressed. He knows he’s going to have to play it cool, but the fact that this is all so uncanny, and that he still has no idea what’s going on, leaves him at a complete loss as to what the correct way to interact with the other two is. He’s just hoping whatever he decides on won’t be questioned too much, and he can slip by unnoticed; at least until he can come up with a plan, figure out where to go from here. He knows there is a boy- _the boy they currently think he is, Prompto is assuming_ \- out there in the night, bleeding to death. And if anything, he was going to get cut down for that, if this really turned out to be, well-

Were alternate universes a thing? Because Prompto was starting to believe they were.

And he's not sure if he’s unsurprised, or sick with shock at the prospect. Either way it’s all pretty heavy stuff to think about, he decides to settle with.

However, Prompto would still rather be cautious than simply believe in something so absurd; just in case this happened to merely be some sick joke, or some ploy to seek revenge on him for what he’s done. Fill him with guilt before ending it. He’s well aware that whatever the two men have in store for him, it’s all entirely deserved. And if Prompto wasn’t so selfish he’d allow it to all play out. 

But he’s not quite ready to die just yet, so with every step he takes, as he follows Gladio and Ignis to God’s knew where, there are at least ten different escape plans running wildly through his mind.

It’s only when he’s faced with the realization of just how close they were- _he had been_ \- to civilization, the bright MOTEL sign staring back at him in mock as unease immediately settled in his gut, that Prompto curses under his breath.

If he had known, he could have avoided all of this.

This entire ordeal could have been completely bypassed, if he had just _searched_ for two God’s damned minutes.

The thought has him kicking himself mentally, and cursing every Astral he can think of; because now he has a mess on his hands the size of Bahamut’s ass, and it was all unnecessary. He could have just dragged himself back here and figured it out on his own; but now he’s with the other two men, who he knows want him dead, and with the high chance of Noctis meeting up with them sooner rather than later.

 _A piñata_ \- Is the first thing that crosses the blonde’s mind; he was going to be a God’s damned piñata, strung up high for the other three to beat to a pulp till he was no longer breathing.

Not an appealing thought.

But on the other hand, the bright side- Prompto tries to reason with himself- at the very least this meant he’d not have to trek in the darkness for too long when the time came to aid the other. He knew the other man was going to need a potion ASAP. Possibly an elixir, judging by the state he had left him in; even though Prompto knew he’d most likely have to make due with just a potion. Possibly some bandages as well, maybe new pants and some water. He was hoping he’d at least not have to be stitching any flesh tonight, after all Prompto didn’t know if anyone else knew the other boy was missing, if perhaps there’d be someone else who’d notice. So that made him in charge of not letting the other guy die.

He climbs over the metal railing, after watching the other two do the same, and pauses, feet planted in the concrete of the road. 

Ignis is putting his phone away, and Gladio is staring right ahead.

There's a figure running right towards them.

He know's exactly who it is.

“Prompto!” Comes the Prince’s voice, knocking the wind right out of his lungs. 

Because now he’s _really_ fucked.

Prompto's hands are already moving, reaching behind himself to where the stolen gun was tucked away in the waistband of his dirty boxers. He hopes no ones noticed the action, because as things are now, that is the last thing he needs.

 _Stay alert,_ he reminds himself, eyeing the fast approaching figure critically.

He’s fully prepared for this night to evolve into the possibility of himself pinned to the ground by multiple blades, and the chance of him dying right here and now are high; but Astrals be _damned_ he’s ready to fight. Prompto knows the other man is pissed- at him in specific. He also knows what the other is capable of, phasing through Imperials as if it were a stroll through the heavily guarded Citadel, and the body count were mere numbers he deemed too bothersome to deal with. Not to mention there are two other men he’d have to single handedly take down. 

But nothing comes. At least not what Prompto is expecting. Because the next thing the blonde knows, he’s being shoved- playfully shoved, and the Prince is saying “where the hell were you? You had us worried sick.”

It has Prompto yet again, completely baffled. 

“Huh?” Is all that manages to make it’s way past his lips, fingers still hovering over the gun, _twitching_.

He knows he can’t let his guard down, not yet. Maybe never.

“I looked all over for you.” comes the exasperated reply, those brilliant- brilliant _blue_ eyes staring at him full of relief.

“For a second there I thought I’d have to find someone else to level in King’s Knight with.” The other jokes, trying to make light of just how worried he had been; but all Prompto can focus on is the endless blue before him. 

_Not red_ \- Is the only thought running through his mind, over and over as he really took in the others features. They were not red- And Prompto isn’t even exactly sure what he’s looking at for a long moment. 

The person in front of him was Noctis alright, the dark hair that pointed out in seemingly all directions atop his head, his jaw, nose, eye shape all recognizable, enough to have the blue seem completely out of place. Though- much like his counterpart, he noted- his features seemed… Softer, more relaxed perhaps; something he wasn’t quite used to associating with the other.

How was that possible. How was _any of this_ possible.

“Prompto?” He can hear Noctis ask, and it’s enough to snap him out of his stupor. Long enough for his hand to fall back at his side, gun forgotten for now.

“Y-yeah?” 

“You okay? You’re staring.” But before Prompto get can a word in, the Prince is speaking again; he can see the others eyes do a quick sweep over him, from top to bottom, dark brows knit in consternation. 

Prompto knows what’s coming next. 

“What’s with the boxers? MT steal your pants or something?”

But they still don’t let Prompto speak, because instead, Gladio is already commenting, clearly amused. “Asked him the same damn thing, the only answer I got was Coeurl.” 

He can also tell, that the next immediate thing that catches Noctis’ attention is the red he knows is on his clothing. 

He’d been so captivated by the prince before him, that he hadn’t even thought of the blood that had soaked the others vest. He had been too concerned with the time restraint to properly deal with it, so it’s only once Noctis eyes had drifted to it, that Prompto looks down to see just how visible the stains really were.

_Oh._

He takes a deep breath, and tries to keep it together long enough to at least quell the others worries, least the prince decides to come closer to check for himself.

That was the very last thing Prompto wanted right now.

“I’m-” He takes another deep breath, before carrying on with more conviction. “I’m fine, Noctis.” Prompto says, hopefully cutting him off before the other can ask the question.

“Yes, he’s made it rather clear that he is alright. Though if you ask me, I’m not thoroughly convinced.” Ignis cuts in, whilst in the process of wiping dirt off his glasses nonchalantly. 

“Did you guys give him the last potion?” Noctis questions the other two, expectantly.

“The kid said he was fine,” Gladio shrugs “didn’t think it was necessary.”

But the potion is necessary, Prompto thinks. He’s going to need it later, not for himself, but for the other blonde. 

“How about I take that potion once we’re settled down. Could really use a clean up.” He dares, eyeing them cautiously. He does remember Gladio mentioning it earlier, so Prompto’s hoping he’s not too far off the mark of what he assumes will be happening next. 

“Yeah, looks like you’ve been rolling in the mud.” The prince smirks.

“Not like you’re looking any better, princess.” Gladio snorts.

“Speak for yourself.” Comes yet again the prince’s reply, and it has Prompto’s head spinning. They are all- so casual, at ease around him. _Just like nothing ever happened._

All he knows is he’s going to be sleeping with the gun tonight. 

“I think we’ve stood around for long enough. If it’s all the same to you all, I’d rather not have to fight anything else today. Instead maybe rent a couple of rooms and call it a night.” 

Prompto watches in amazement, as Noctis let’s out the biggest sigh of relief, a small pleased smile making it’s way on the boys face in response to the advisors words.

Said man then glanced up, eyes meeting his again. “Shall we?” He asks, and Prompto realizes he’s waiting for his consent. 

Ignis was seemingly gifted with endless patience, but even he had his limits, and was capable of having a temper. At least, that’s what Prompto had gathered from his experiences involving the other man.

Now that they are all together, he doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

“Yeah, sounds good.” 

“Well then, Let us make haste.” The advisor sighed. “Lest the daemons catch up with our whereabouts.”

It’s the last straw that has Prompto realizing that perhaps, he should be contemplating the possibility that he has been, somehow, misplaced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> None of this has been beta'd yet ;; so I'm sorry for any mistakes! Please do let me know if you guys find any!  
> Also, I'm sure many of you already know what's going on :3c  
> I'll confirm it once we're in deeper 83c


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had me by the balls, and then proceeded to suplex me into the cold hard ground. Multiple times.  
> It was actually supposed to be longer than this, but I was struggling so much, I decided to divide it so I can focus on it in smaller parts ; o ;
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it regardless!

When Noctis practically shoves him into the closed door of their shared room- almost causing him to faceplant, Prompto doesn’t allow himself to think much of it.

It’s a small, harsh, but oddly friendly gesture Prompto isn’t too unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of. He’s definitely used to roughhousing, what with their little group getting into the occasional scuffle, which most times results in Prompto on the ground, a thick tattooed arm around his neck forcing him to say uncle. So instead of dwelling on it, Prompto ops for observing as the alternative, blue-violet eyes watching with interest as the prince twists the metal key eagerly, with a characteristic lack of patience, and then proceeds to unceremoniously shove the wooden door open, letting it slam against the wall with a not so mild bang.

“Was that absolutely necessary.” Is what immediately follows, the source being Ignis currently on his left. The advisors rhetorical question is sporting an edge of exasperation. Prompto can understand why.

It only gets the man a royal one shoulder shrug, along with an eye-roll, courtesy of his Highness. 

Trust Noctis to lack consideration, and trust Iggy to be the voice of reason. Not that Noctis was going to listen, if the prince was anything like the boy he remembers.

However, with the door now out of the way, Prompto’s gaze is free to flicker across the space they were intended to share for the night, curious eyes taking it all in.

It’s small, old, and kind of dusty, but comfortable looking nonetheless, he supposes. He can tell the floral wallpaper- or whatever’s left of it- could probably use a revamp; he’s not sure he want’s to know what’s living under it, feeding off of the glue. He’s also positive there’s some kind of mold or mildew growing in the corner. Not to mention the water damage stain that creeps down the wall below the beat up window, in the shape of something that Prompto thinks resembles a Cactuar. It was definitely shelter though, and if it meant not waking up in the mud again, he’d take it. In the end, Prompto decides he likes it well enough.

So why can’t he move?

His boots feel glued to the cement right outside the door, and his hands feel clammy, no matter how inviting the room is. And as little time as he currently has, he knows he probably shouldn’t stagnate. Lest one of them take it upon themselves to usher him inside by force.

The thought alone has Prompto entire body going stiff with anticipation, ready to counter it, if it so happened to be what his hesitance escalated into.

Being so close to people who once upon a time Prompto would have consider friends, is leaving him on the very edge of a mild breakdown, and with something akin to a sour taste in the back of his mouth. Now whether that happened to be the bile rising due to sheer nerves or not, is debatable. That, and the amount of trouble he was going to be in, once the men caught onto his lie. Because they would catch on eventually, and Prompto was simply going to allow it.

He is still completely and utterly dumbstruck at how easy it was to slip under the radar; the unsuspecting men allowing him as much leeway as to organize treason if he’d so decide. Not that he was actually planning on murdering the prince or anything, nor murder anyone else for that matter. But the point was, he was still _close enough to do it._

In another life- _his life_ , they would have never allowed it. Chances were he would have been killed on the spot for even thinking it, let alone attempt to act on it. The fact that he had been a friend was completely irrelevant. Letting your guard down regardless of the circumstances always proved to be dangerous, no matter who you thought you could trust and who you thought was your friend. They had all learned their lessons early on, the hard way, as he had watched people start to backstab each other left and right. 

And Prompto can’t exactly contend that he was any different- he has to remind himself of such every day. He had lived it, and delivered it. The blood he had witness spill freely, was a firm reminder that ‘trust no one’ was the only motto worth living by. 

But these people- they hadn’t suspected a thing, perhaps hadn’t thought it to be necessary. Prompto is almost jealous. Never had he been allowed the pleasure of simply letting himself relax, to just _be_ Prompto. And neither had the other three men, and yet, here they were. Hanging out like best buds.

Prompto supposes, that to them, he just looks like their missing friend.

You could even argue that, in a way, they were right. But Prompto wasn’t the man he had left out in the mud. And once this was over, he was really going to have to re-establish his damn sense of self.

They were _different_ , and with different pasts by the look of things.

‘Things’ being the three men currently watching him intently from the rundown corridor of the motel. 

He cannot believe he really slipped his way right into their little group with not so much as the blink of an eye.

“What…?” Prompto dares ask, casually- or as casual as he can manage that is, under the weight of the three pairs of eyes currently putting him on the spot.

“Nay,” Says Ignis, after a moment of contemplation “it’s nothing.” He’s then glancing up at Gladio, who Prompto swears has been staring him down since he met with the three. “Shall we?”

The shield in turn merely grunts his response, leveling the blonde with one last look before adamantly turning on his heels to make his way down the hall, to what Prompto presumes is their room. 

“Do make sure you remember to wash up before falling asleep.” Ignis is quick to add on, almost as an afterthought. 

For a second it catches Prompto’s full attention, interest piqued as he’s been keeping a silent tally of the differences, as minor as they may be. 

Just how much of a caretaker was _this_ Iggy to _their_ group? 

Maybe it’s still just to Noctis in specific- Prompto recedes. At least based on the holes the advisor was practically staring into the unfazed prince. In the end it’s nothing new; still though, Prompto finds himself thinking he might like this version better, regardless.

“I'm aware it might be asking for too much, but if you could kindly refrain from falling asleep at all, I'll be preparing a small meal-”

“Yeah, yeah, Specs. Heard ya loud and clear the first time,” Noctis cuts him off, merely giving the man a dismissive wave as Prompto watched Ignis heave out a massive sigh of frustration.

“Of course you have.” It's all the advisor has to offer, a modest amount of indignation in his tone, before he hesitantly follows after Gladio rather than stand there and argue with someone who was clearly not going to listen.

Ignis was seriously just walking away. And Gladio was already half way down the hall.

The Shield and Chamberlain were seriously trusting him- _him_ , The Traitor, with the _prince of Lucis_ \- with Noctis Lucis Caelum, in a room, on their own. For the rest of the night.

It was laughable at most.

How does this even happen.

“You gonna stand there all night, or shut the door?” 

It’s what tears prompto out of his reverie, shifting his gaze from the retreating figure of the advisor, to in turn grace Noctis with his full attention.

“I don’t know about you but I’m beat.” 

Those next words are what manage to drag a snort out of the blonde, tense, tired muscles relaxing only slightly.

When exactly was the guy _not_ tired? Good to know at least some things remained unchanged even throughout various universes. What was sacred went untouched. It almost causes the blonde to double over in laughter, honest and tired amusement threatening to bubble up to the surface. But then again, Prompto can’t really deny it either- the exhaustion was starting to creep it’s way in for him as well, with no real intention of letting up.

“When are you not?” Prompto smirks, watching the other's expressions shift and change with such ease, the prince's features putty under their pull.

Noctis rolls his eyes again, beautiful blue then regarding him once more, this time paired with a soft smile. Prompto could almost get used to this. “A man needs his beauty sleep.” He concedes, his tone light and humorous, and Prompto’s own eyes are wide with awe, fully taking in the other man.

The prince’s face is open, friendly and inviting; it almost causes Prompto to saunter closer to bask more in that comforting aura. It’s a real shame this is Noctis Lucis Caelum standing there before him. Though perhaps he was going to have to rework the way he viewed said prince.

It’s only when sleep is mentioned, that Prompto belatedly realizes: there’s only one bed.

_Huh._

It causes the blonde to blink slowly and owlishly, mind going blank for just a second as it caught up.

He sure hoped he wasn’t expected to- what? Share? Sleep on the ground? Hell; Prompto would have rather slept outside in the mud again than be anywhere near Noctis, no matter how friendly the prince was being, or how good the motel room was. But it’s still a room, with a bed, a dry and clean bed. 

Prompto is in the bargaining stages of acceptance.

“Uhm…” He keeps his voice soft, tentative, eyes darting across the room to take in every detail once again, desperately searching for his backup plan.

There were chairs- He could always push them all into a corner and makeshift something. It didn’t have to be perfect.

Noctis is watching him, brows furrowed as he tries to place just what's wrong- Prompto is acutely aware of it, and it’s almost suffocating in its own right.

“Hm?” Noct follows up Prompto’s questioning sound with his own, as tired eyes give him a brief once over, pausing at the dirt on his face. “You know what, maybe you should shower first...” It causes Prompto to frown at the words, pausing his scheming mid way through mentally creating a fort out of the available furniture. “You’re filthy,” Noctis chuckles. 

Right; he had almost forgot about that. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was true, he’d have a half mind to be offended.

And as much as bathing might have given away the fact that he was not, indeed, who they thought he was, the idea of washing away all the filth and grime still has Prompto practically groaning in delight. 

“Yeah, I guess.” In the end, it really doesn’t take much for him to give in. He's already eyeing the door he assumes is hiding the bathroom. 

The sleeping arrangements could wait till later.

It’s still a risk, he realizes. Washing the dirt from his face, would showcase his lack of freckles. And washing his hair would give away the slight difference in hue’s; Prompto knows he’s playing with fire. 

Arguing with Ignis, though, is not something on Prompto’s bucket list as of now.  
And providing solutions to the problem is probably not worth it; he does plan to be out of here as soon as he get’s the chance. This act wasn’t one that could last very long, of as much Prompto is aware.

Eventually they'd catch on. It was only a matter of time and nothing more.

“Are you waiting for a royal invite or something?” The prince’s voice startles Prompto once more out of his train of thought. He was doing that alot lately, it seemed- the spacing out thing.

“Huh?” 

“You’re just standing around. Are you sure you’re alright?” The question is clearly of the skeptical kind, and he knows at this point there is nothing he can say that will get them to believe him. They've all pretty much collectively made up their minds that Prompto indeed was not okay.

He finds himself hard pressed not to agree with them.

“I’m fine, sorry, was just thinking.” He lies regardless.

“Yeah I can tell…”

“I'll uh, go take that shower now.” 

But there’s still one thing that has Prompto mentally putting puzzle pieces together. Trying to word himself in a way that would not sound completely weird. His eyes hit the floor for a moment, as he calculates his next words carefully.

“Spare clothes?” Is the only thing he deems safe enough to ask in the end. Well, if it even really counted as a question. Prompto knows he probably just sounds silly.

In fact it only gets him a weird look. He can tell Noctis isn’t entirely convinced of his well being, no matter how many times Prompto has tried to alleviate their concerns within the past couple of hours or so.

He supposes that if he were to be completely fair, to them, he did probably sound like a concussed version of their friend.

Noctis looks like he’s about to say something, worry as clear as day in those deep blue eyes- _God’s he can’t stop staring at them_ \- before he’s deciding against it, shutting his mouth with an audible click of teeth. Instead, he just lets two duffel bags fall from what Prompto assumes is the armiger, and then proceeds to reach down and unzip the one he is also assuming belongs to his counterpart- only to then retrieve a few clothing items.

Once he’s handed them over, and Prompto has them grasped securely to his chest, it’s then Noctis decides to close the door to their room himself, locking it. 

_The door_ , Prompto remembers. He had forgotten about that. It had stayed the way it was- wide open- throughout their entire conversation, and Prompto hadn't noticed once. Maybe he was somewhat concussed after all.

All the blonde can think about, is how he was going to blow his cover if he didn't get it together. Sooner rather than later possibly.

He’s just really glad they’re all too tired to do much else but prepare for bed. It gave him leeway, and openings to ask otherwise really odd questions, and get away with behavior he’s fully aware was worrisome.

It also helps Prompto avoid entire conversations.

\---

He only allows himself a breath of relief once he's fully within the safety of the small bathroom.

He’s already reaching to turn the shower on while simultaneously single handedly undressing as he goes, all in a matter of seconds- this time, with the bathroom door securely locked behind him. He had made sure of it first thing after setting foot in the room.

Showering now of all times is not a good idea, of that much Prompto is aware. He know’s he’s quite possibly making a mistake. But with the amount of dried mud caking his arms and face, and with the way Noct was looking at him, Prompto doesn’t think he’s getting out of this one.

A rough estimates of an hour- give or take- is all Prompto can grant himself, so he was going to have to work within that time frame. 

He can already feel himself start to crumble under the pressure of the ticking clock, currently weighing him down and reminding him that time didn’t stand still for anyone. Prompto knows if he doesn’t hurry up, he’ll have a whole other _very specific_ problem on his hands that he’d rather not have to deal with, given he had a choice in the matter after all.

He needs to get out of here ASAP, even if it meant doing a half assed job at washing.

Though, leaving the other boy in the first place, without any help the way he did? That was probably just plain counterproductive to begin with.

Normal people don’t just leave other injured people out to die, he realizes. It was custom to call for help, or aid in any way you could _after_ calling for help, and in some places not providing assistance was going as far as not abiding by the law- _like in Lucis, for example._ Prompto knows, however, that he’s not exactly the definition of a law abiding citizen- he’s far from it; and nor is he fully functional in the empathy department-not really. But a dead body was a dead body at the end of the day, and frankly Prompto has had enough of watching people die.

He was merely going to be a tad bit late with his aid, is all.

It couldn’t have been any worse than a class II hemorrhage; the trap itself- unless the idiot finally succeeded in removing it without his aid- would likely keep the flesh sealed long enough for him to administer that potion.

So without further due, he settles on hurrying the hell up, kicking his soiled clothing into a corner of the room, leaving him completely naked. Maybe the other boy won’t be dead by the time he get’s back out there. And maybe that won’t just be wishful thinking.

But showering- Prompto realizes- isn’t the only thing he’s going to have to do. 

“God’s-” comes the sharp intake, saturated with terror-stricken frustration, “Damn it…” 

Ports.

Ports and IV tubes. Littered here and there across his pale, dirty, and marred flesh. The colored plastic staring back at him, mockingly. _Knowingly._

_Astrals._

How did he forget.

He had been so God’s damned preoccupied with the situation and time restraint, that in the haste and panic of switching clothes and being mindful of not being caught he had completely forgotten about them. And now he was left to take inventory of every single tube he was going to have to tug out of his skin later on. All because he forgot. _How the hell did he forget._

“Fuck…” A breathy chuckle pushed it’s way past his lips, despite himself. Despite the actual horrific implications all the plastic tubing had.

Prompto has to remind himself to _breathe._

Breathe and focus. And not panic. This was not the time to panic. If he panics now it’ll lead to hyperventilating, and if he hyperventilates, chances were he was going to pass out. And if he passes out, eventually the other three men would find him as is, ports and everything, all out in the open for them to see. It didn’t even matter that the door was locked; Gladio would make sure to tear the damn thing right off it’s hinges with his bare hands.

And Prompto definitely cannot let them see.

The mere thought of that being a possible outcome, has Prompto forcefully taking in deep breaths, counting to five, and then exhaling slowly.

It can be fixed. 

_Prompto can fix this._

He can easily remove the IV catheters, tug them out of his thighs and lower back rather painlessly- and as a matter of fact, Prompto does just that, right then and there; and with gusto. He’s not even particularly preoccupied with being gentle, simply ripping them out one by one as his eyes scan his body for more, glancing at himself in the mirror to make sure he got _every single damned one of them_. Down his thighs, and his back, though the latter require some stretching and reaching. He still manages. Prompto is determined.

He can see the small dots of blood that are already forming where the needles resided, in the aftermath of his carelessness. But it goes ignored. Because Prompto _doesn’t care._ He just wants them _gone_.

He wants them gone _now damn it._

He at least makes sure he's dumping them into the lidded trash bin, the one to the side below the sink, and hopes no one has the mind to glance inside later on. For an extra layer of precaution- _just in case_ \- Prompto then hastily reaches for the toilet paper that's hanging from the wall, tugging at it till he’s holding enough to roll into a fairly large ball. He lets that drop into the trash as well, right on top of the needles and plastic, in a panicked and poorly planned attempt to hide the mess. It works for now. And the needles are all gone from his flesh and taken care of.

But the PEG is a problem, he knows it cannot just be tugged out as is. 

And the small dual metal ports on the back of his neck would have to stay for now as well. 

it’s- It’s aggravating; Prompto wants to rip it _all_ off in a fit of- Rage? Panic? Distress??? He’s not even entirely sure anymore.

Six. His mind is still foggy on the details, his brain trying to play catch up at the slowest pace possible, and it’s maddening. He can practically feel the pulsing in his head, as the migraine that’s there takes a turn for the worst, rather than subside as Prompto had hoped. But the one thing- _the last thing_ he truly remembers from before, before waking up here- the one thing that stands out to Prompto, is definitely the memory of suffocating. Or at least he thinks he was suffocating. He remembers being submerged, completely, in some kind of water, or something similar enough to make it hard to tell the two apart. He remembers getting ushered inside some kind of chamber or room, hell it could have been a friggen closet- Prompto isn't even entirely sure anymore. Nor can he remember what order everything took place in. 

He definitely remembers being injected with various liquids, though. It’s what all the IV catheters and ports were for after all. Prompto thinks it might have been blood- no, he _knows_ blood was definitely amongst some of the substances. One amongst many, many different things that were forcefully put in his body against his will. Because he did not agree to any of that.

He just can’t, for the life of him, remember why though. Why was he there, why does he have all these- _things_ stuck in his flesh.

And its distressing. He's missing time. And missing time was never, ever a positive thing.

There’s one thing Prompto does know though. One thing he knows for certain.

His father had done this to _him_ \- to him, the man’s _son._

And what has Prompto teetering, reaching to grab the edge of the sink as his breathing forcibly speeds up again, was the fact that his father _wasn’t even entirely to blame._

He had misgivings about the man’s ambitions; he knew the scientist was wholly unhinged, no but’s or if’s about it. Prompto knew he’d stop at nothing- that nothing would assuage the man’s thirst for power.

Yet he had allowed Verstael- his _father,_ back into his life. And he had nearly done it without a second though. He knew there’d be retributions- he wasn’t stupid, it was a betrayal after all. But Prompto had been _weak._ He had accepted conditions he wasn’t even aware of. He had forgotten to read the _small print._

All for what? Acceptance? Acknowledgement?? His father’s _love???_

Prompto was an idiot.

He should have known better. _He did know better_.

Yet he had still allowed himself to be whisked away by endless _empty_ promises, he had been _manipulated-_

While his father shifted his worth back and forth, toying with it between two fingers like it was nothing more than a shiny stone.

“ _My beloved child,_ ” Verstael had dared call him; reaching for him, offering a gentle touch to the messy blonde hair atop his head. After all those years. All as if it was nothing of importance- as if it were the norm. As if he could have been decent. And Prompto fell for it.

He had been desperate to a fault.

And all it got him was was this again. More tubes, more tests, more of all of _this._

He was played like a fool, and it was all his own damned fault.

And now? Now he was stuck in a room, with the person he had betrayed, all for his Six damned father.

“Fuck.” Prompto muttered, again, hands tugging at locks of blonde hair. Hands that had made their way upwards at some point during his mental breakdown.

No.

He didn’t have time for this right now. Later.

It could wait till later.

Focusing was of utmost importance, the clock was ticking away at an uncomfortably fast pace. He needed to just wash up and get out of there.

He finds himself turning, eyes trailing back to the running shower for a moment, and he can taste the bile rising in the back of his throat. Threatening.

He can’t do this. 

He can't. Not now. 

New plan.

There’s dried mud on his arms and face, he’s perfectly aware of it, but he’s still reaching down to grab the even dirtier shirt, pulling it right back on. Unfortunately though he’s left with no choice but to grab the clean pants, so he does just that, tugging them on as well and just as quickly, with no regard for the recently laundered garment.

When he tugs the bathroom door open and steps out into the rest of the room, he spots the prince, laying on the bed face down, fast asleep. Because _of course he is._

 _You stupid, stupid, spoilt prince_ , is the only thing Prompto can think of in regards to the situation before him. He’s already making his way over, nearly tripping over the momentarily forgotten luggage. _You let a complete stranger get this close, and you let your guard fall._ If he had wanted to, this would be the perfect opportunity for an attempt on the prince’s life. 

One slit to the throat and he'd be gone.

“Noctis.” He tries, shaking the sleeping bundle of blankets. 

“Noctis wake up,” but the other doesn’t budge, simply burrowing deeper.

Prompto doesn’t have the time, nor the patience for this. He’s already got one knee on the edge of the mattress, leaning forward to reach for the other boy. 

“Noct!!” Prompto hisses, pinching the other in the face, _hard._

That seems to finally do the trick, causing the prince’s eyes to fly open, and hastily regard the blonde with groggy shock.

“Huh- Wh- Prom?”

“I need the potion.” Prompto quickly interjects, not leaving room for any type of small talk. And he can tell Noctis still wants to attempt it.

“What? Are you hurt?” 

“Just give me the potion Noctis.” He’s trying his best not to make that sound like a threat, but he’s tired, and it’s late, and this is all so damn _difficult._

It doesn’t take much more convincing- thank the Astrals, all of them- the unease in Prompto’s voice forces the other to rise to attentiveness, already pulling the curative out of the armiger in a flash of blue. Noctis is then handing it over, and Prompto wastes no time in grabbing the glass vial, tucking it away securely into one of his many pockets.

“What’s going on?” Of course next he get’s asked the unavoidable. But Prompto’s skirting his limits. He just wants to go make sure the other blonde isn’t dead, and hit the hay. Forget about everything for just a few hours.

“Nothing, just- go back to sleep, don’t worry about it.”

“Prom?” 

“I’m fine.” Prompto tries, softer this time, when the harshness in his voice only seems to attract more questions from the raven-haired boy.

He’s then pushing himself up and away from the bed, as Noctis slowly sits up, eyes following the blonde. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be right back”

“Prompto…”

“Go back to sleep Noctis.”

Prompto doesn’t hear the response, he’s already shutting the door with a click, checking his stolen gun, and leaving the prince lost and confused and alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all probably thinking MT ports.  
> It's not MT ports, I can promise you that :3c
> 
> Also some of you mightttt know what's going on, and what inspired this fic. Either way it's still too early for me to say, it would spoil stuff!
> 
> Next chapter will be the Prompto's reuniting again, so this Prompto can finally give the injured Prompto that potion!


End file.
